james_holiday
07-16-2010, 01:33 PM
I had just graduated from acting school. I was now in the big wide world. It was over. The party had finished.
It was July time and the sun had been intensely hot for several weeks. I was 21, which back then is not a age to be. I was young and hopeful. I wanted to see the American West. I wanted to see Nebraska, Idaho, Montana. Montana especially.
I don't know what it is but I have always been attracted and drawn to the quiet and easy lifestyles of those who inhabit such a place. They would be my places to recharge my batteries. This would be the chapter of my life when I can start to smell the roses and appreciate what I truly have. You know, get back to basics, breathe the cool mountain air and feel alive without having to indulge in liquor.
I lay in the middle of the road, listening carefully, waiting for someone to pick me up. It was very very hot. And it was very early in the morning, perhaps 8 o'clock. I desperately needed a coffee. A cafe au lait or a caffe latte. Something rich and thick.
It was in Montana I met Grace Whitman, a nymphomaniac femme fatale. She was English but of Norwegian heritage. Now I don't usually hitchhike. I know the dangers of the empty road. But well I was desperate for a ride to nowhere.
It was Grace Whitman who stopped for me and picked me up. Now considering my father is a mechanic, I should probably know a thing or two about cars, but to be honest, I have absolutely no idea what she was driving. I do know that it was grey silver looking thing, impressive and shiny. She was either very rich or has a very generous dad.
She was very blonde, and very white. She was chunky around the edges, but sought of lean. She definetly had racehorse legs, a cheerful demeanor and a small cupcake tits. I was very shy and very reserved, perhaps it was because she was so extrovert in a way that is ultimately disarming.
The air was suddenly lovely, cool and sub-tropical. The car was racing down the road to nowhere. I asked her to take me as far as anywhere, I didn't really have a plan. I thought I would think on my feet.
I'd spent the last three years planning and structuring my day, and finally at last, I wanted to get away from it. I wanted a spontaneity that had always eluded me. It was a caution of the wind attitude that empowered me. But at the same time, I thought my behaviour and attitude was reckless, and I could quite possibly die.
It was now that I decided to get some sleep. I embraced unconsciousness and oblivion. And I very much hoped she wouldn't steal from me, or leave me somewhere without my clothes. She was very pretty but that does not mean I can trust her.
It was July time and the sun had been intensely hot for several weeks. I was 21, which back then is not a age to be. I was young and hopeful. I wanted to see the American West. I wanted to see Nebraska, Idaho, Montana. Montana especially.
I don't know what it is but I have always been attracted and drawn to the quiet and easy lifestyles of those who inhabit such a place. They would be my places to recharge my batteries. This would be the chapter of my life when I can start to smell the roses and appreciate what I truly have. You know, get back to basics, breathe the cool mountain air and feel alive without having to indulge in liquor.
I lay in the middle of the road, listening carefully, waiting for someone to pick me up. It was very very hot. And it was very early in the morning, perhaps 8 o'clock. I desperately needed a coffee. A cafe au lait or a caffe latte. Something rich and thick.
It was in Montana I met Grace Whitman, a nymphomaniac femme fatale. She was English but of Norwegian heritage. Now I don't usually hitchhike. I know the dangers of the empty road. But well I was desperate for a ride to nowhere.
It was Grace Whitman who stopped for me and picked me up. Now considering my father is a mechanic, I should probably know a thing or two about cars, but to be honest, I have absolutely no idea what she was driving. I do know that it was grey silver looking thing, impressive and shiny. She was either very rich or has a very generous dad.
She was very blonde, and very white. She was chunky around the edges, but sought of lean. She definetly had racehorse legs, a cheerful demeanor and a small cupcake tits. I was very shy and very reserved, perhaps it was because she was so extrovert in a way that is ultimately disarming.
The air was suddenly lovely, cool and sub-tropical. The car was racing down the road to nowhere. I asked her to take me as far as anywhere, I didn't really have a plan. I thought I would think on my feet.
I'd spent the last three years planning and structuring my day, and finally at last, I wanted to get away from it. I wanted a spontaneity that had always eluded me. It was a caution of the wind attitude that empowered me. But at the same time, I thought my behaviour and attitude was reckless, and I could quite possibly die.
It was now that I decided to get some sleep. I embraced unconsciousness and oblivion. And I very much hoped she wouldn't steal from me, or leave me somewhere without my clothes. She was very pretty but that does not mean I can trust her.